In the Kitchen
by la-rubinita
Summary: In which Dean has a Freudian Slip, and Sam ships it. Destiel.


Couldn't sleep (and because _everyone_ needs a break from NaNo at 2 in the morning) and an awesomely adorable little bit of art by consulting-cannibal on Tumblr (link in profile) that has been stuck in my head for days so this fic happened. I also sort of made it fit in my spn_30snapshot grid, found on LJ, square 15.15. Thanks to the lovely Ava from the FB group Destiel Trash for the quick read through to make sure it wasn't utter garbage. Not beta'd properly, so all mistakes are unintentional. Let me know if you see any heinous ones ;)

15.15 In the Kitchen.

Sam isn't psychic anymore, but that doesn't mean his sixth sense for the monumental is any less accurate. Today has that feeling, that crackle in the air, like something completely out of left field is going to smack either him or Dean right across the face and nothing will ever be the same again.

Sam is in the kitchen with Castiel, packed and ready to go, watching Dean flutter around the bunker like a sixteen-year-old girl before her first date. Honestly, he's been acting like a pre-date teenager since they got Cas back to the bunker in the first place.

Cas is actually looking pretty good today. Rowena's curse kicked his ass hard, and he is still a little pale and haggard-looking, but he's got some sparkle back in his eyes, and Sam would be a liar if he said that familiar head tilt Cas regularly executes while observing his brother isn't a welcome sign. It fills him with the hope that, despite everything, the three of them might get back to normal.

Whatever _normal_ is for them.

"Is Dean all right? He seems very… unsettled this morning."

"Unsettled? He's full-on spazzing."

"Spazzing?"

"Yeah, like, freaking out."

"Perhaps he is worried about your new hunt?"

Sam shrugs, genuinely not having a clue. "It's just a rougarou in Missouri. Pretty routine. We should be back in a couple of days."

"Is it because I won't eat anything?" Cas asks gravely.

Sam's forehead crinkles. "What do you mean?"

"He keeps insisting I eat. I don't know how many different ways I can explain to him that, even in my weakened state, my body does not require sustenance. But Dean's attachment to food often borders on unhealthy, so I'm not sure if this is relevant information."

Sam snorts, thinking that 'unhealthy' is a pretty mild term to describe Dean's relationship with food. It's interesting he's trying to feed Cas, though. Cas hasn't been human for over a year. Dean knows this.

"This is ridiculous."

Sam finds Dean in his bedroom, staring intently into his duffel bag, like he considering repacking it. Sam jerks the bag off the bed before Dean even really knows he's there, and holds it back behind him, completely prepared to stiff-arm his brother to keep the bag out of his neurotic hands.

"The hell, Sammy?" Dean growls.

"I could ask you the same thing, dude. I've been packed and ready to go for over an hour."

"Don't be dramatic. It hasn't been that long."

"Listen, if you don't want to go, for whatever reason—"

"Who said anything about not going?" Dean snaps, reaching for the bag. "Now shut up and give me that."

"You're not going to reorganize it again, are you?"

"I said, shut up."

Sam hands him the bag, his expression still skeptical. "You have got to get a new comeback."

Dean stomps off, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'shut up.' Sam just smiles and follows him into the kitchen. Dean is standing in front of Cas when he gets there, his shoulders all tensed up.

"You're sure you're not hungry? You look hungry."

Cas sighs. "I don't eat Dean. But if it will ease your mind, I will."

"Good. There's, ah, frozen pizzas I think. Just don't, you know, set the place on fire."

"I am confident in my ability to operate the oven."

Dean nods his head, like he knows, and takes a step closer. "And you know _for sure_ what to do if something goes wrong?"

"Yes," Cas says, with what Sam could only describe as fond exasperation creeping into his voice.

Sam watches with interest as Dean takes another step closer. Then, very slowly, Dean raises his hand to brush something imaginary off the front of Cas' shirt, but it's like he forgets what he's doing halfway and just rests his hand on Cas' chest, palm over his heart. Cas doesn't seem to notice, but the guy's never really had a grasp of the concept of personal space to begin with. Sam has always found it a little amusing, but he's just now realized that Dean stopped complaining about it a long, long time ago.

"And you've got my number, in case of an emergency?" Dean says, his voice dropping. Sam calls this his Serious Voice.

"Yes, Dean. I'll be fine."

Dean breathes out sharply, his shoulders going slack with relief, like at least for the moment he believes him. Then he curls his fingers in the cotton of Cas' borrowed t-shirt and drags the angel toward him, just enough to pull Cas off balance. Dean meets him halfway, pressing his lips to Cas'. It's just a quick peck. Like it's completely normal. Happens all the time.

Dean is smiling when he turns away.

Cas is staring after him, wide-eyed and bewildered.

"Alright, see ya, Cas. You comin' Sammy?"

Sam has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he can chase Dean into the garage, throwing Cas a Don't Look At Me look before he goes.

They hop into the Impala without a word, Dean slamming the door, as usual. Sam just stares straight out the windshield, his eyes so wide in shock they're starting to dry. He's half afraid to say anything. To _move._

In his peripheral vision, he sees Dean reach for the key in the ignition three times before he gives up and just white-knuckles the steering wheel. Dean takes several deep breaths.

"Did…did I just kiss Cas?"

Sam can't help but smile. "Yeah."

Dean takes another deep breath. It comes out a little shaky. "Oh."

For a long minute, neither of them move.

"Dean?"

"We should—"

"If you want to—"

"Get there by morning—"

"This one's pretty routine—"

"…see the body—"

"I can handle it."

"What?"

"If you wanna…"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why would I—"

"Dean."

"Shut _up."_

Sam is shocked even further when Dean practically throws himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him, like if he hesitates for even a second longer he'd change his mind. Sam slides over into the driver's seat and rolls the window down.

"I'll call when I get there."

Dean throws his hands up in the air and stomps off, back down into the bunker, muttering under his breath the whole way.

Sam waits until he's past the Lebanon town line before he pulls the car over and laughs until he cries.


End file.
